


Biggest Fan

by Gowombat83



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Modern AU, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18757870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gowombat83/pseuds/Gowombat83
Summary: Cullen is a guitarist in a heavy metal band -The Templars. Alistair is his biggest fan.From a prompt received from my kindred trash T/CullenLovesMen/MHandersMyHeart on Tumblr"Oh hello. ;> I arrive with a little prompt for your Cullistair kisses series; Alistair is a huge fanboy of The Templars, a heavy metal band, and especially their handsome but stoic guitar player. What happens when a roadie invites Alistair backstage to meet the guitarist? "Sorry it's not a 100 word kiss drabble like you wanted, I hope this meagre 1866 word one-shot makes up for it though!





	Biggest Fan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cullenlovesmen (handersmyheart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handersmyheart/gifts).



Alistair shuffled into the room behind his friend Evelyn, eyes wide and mouth agape as he crossed the threshold into the sanctum – the Backstage lounge. Though he’d never like her, Evelyn’s girlfriend Morrigan had connections, and he begrudgingly had to give her kudos for getting him into the after-gig  meet-n- greet with his favourite metal band- The Templars.

“Do close your mouth Alistair, ‘lest someone think you simple,” Morrigan sniped.

Al snapped it shut, but any rejoinder died on his tongue as the door opened and… there _he_ was.

The band filed into the room but he only had eyes for one- the lead guitarist. They moved among the small group of fans shaking hands and smiling politely as drinks were passed around and glasses clinked among the murmur of excited conversation.

Al’s mouth went dry as he came face to face with his idol, and not so secret star-crush, Cullen. His wheaten-blonde hair was still damp from a shower and hung in soft curls almost to his shoulders, the smudged remnants of coal-dark eyeliner rimmed in stark contrast the piercing topaz eyes that Alistair realised were staring directly back at him.

The heat of a blush coloured Al’s cheeks and neck in his embarrassment at being caught gawking like a 13 year old Belieber, but instead of the expected annoyance and resulting brush-off, his anxiety shot up to critical when Cullen gave him his trademark one-sided smirk and, grabbing two glasses from a passing tray, approached him and held one out.

“Let me guess,” Cullen’s voice was the perfect blend of smooth, rich honey, and dark whiskey, and Alistair began to think he might actually die right there at his feet, “You’re a big fan?” Cullen tinked his glass with the one Alistair hadn’t realised he’d taken, only to hold it woodenly out in front of himself still absolutely star struck.

“Ye-ah- yes, b-big fan, the biggest!” he winced at his awkward tongue, and hoped Cullen didn’t notice.

Cullen’s half-smirk softened and become something warmer, more genuine, and Al’s throat bobbed in mimic as the man took a sip of the amber liquid and swallowed.

“And you are…?” Cullen prompted after a pause, in which Alistair’s eyes had been drawn to Cullen’s lips and became occupied with the sensual curve of his cupid’s bow, tracing it to that scar that somehow only made the man more beautiful, more like the greek…

“Adonis! Ah, no, I mean Alistair! I am A-Alistair, that’s me…” he mentally facepalmed and wished for the earth to open up and swallow him, now, please?

But Cullen only laughed, seemingly charmed by his absolute lack of social grace, “Alistair, aren’t you just a treat? Would you like to come sit, have a drink with me?” Cullen reached out his free hand, and when Al hesitated he lightly hooked Alistair’s limp hand with two fingers and coaxed him to follow.

“Ah, yeah sure! That’d be awesome! I’d love to,” Al gushed, and let himself be led to a quiet corner and two tall bar stools. Cullen settled himself with his back nestled in the corner, legs cocked nonchalantly on the rungs and sipped again at his drink. He watched on with amusement as Alistair gingerly perched atop the opposite facing seat taking every care not to do anything else stupid, like fall off of it. Once he was sure he was stable, long awkward legs securely braced under the stool, he gripped his untouched drink in a death grip between both hands and took a deep swig of his own.

“So,” Cullen began, “tell me about you?”

“Oh, there’s not much to tell really,” Alistair tried to hide a wheeze after he downed too large a gulp of what he now knew was Johnny Blue, “I went to a Catholic boarding school before going into law like my dad and his dad before him, dropped out to pursue my own interest, much to is disappointment I’m sure, and now I’m a travel writer. Not all that much different from yourself, really,” he flipped a dismissive hand and took another sip which went down much more smoothly.

“Not any different at all, except perhaps between Catholic school and law school I went to seminary school- I was going to be a priest, did you know that? Of course you did,” he replied to Alistair’s quick nod, “you’re our biggest fan.” He smiled, eyes glinting mischief as he teased, and Alistair’s guts answered with summersaults.

“Actually,” Al demurred, cheeks turning pink, “before the Templars I was already a fan of yours, see, I used to play tournament chess…. and I once had the dubious honour of being completely annihilated by one-“

“Lion of Ferelden!” they said in unison, and laughed.

Perhaps it was the drink, or just the easy way Cullen spoke that had Alistair relaxing and actually enjoying himself, but the words came easier and the laughter more natural as they talked. Occasionally they’d be interrupted by another fan, and Cullen would give them the stoic half-smirk that was his trademark, and pose for a photo before coming right back to Alistair to continue wherever they left of, or to start a new branch of conversation. It wasn’t until the small collection of glasses they’d gathered on the bar clinked as they were bussed that they realised they were the only two left in the room besides the venue staff that were cleaning up.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for keeping you, you must be exhausted after the show and then this-“ Al looked about, suddenly nervous again, “I didn’t mean to hijack your evening!”

“Al, relax,” Cullen grinned, “It’s alright, I wouldn’t have stayed if I wasn’t enjoying myself. In this gig you learn how to extract yourself from the overzealous masses, and I really didn’t feel the need to try tonight, at all.” He held Alistair’s gaze as he slid a leather- strapped hand along the bar towards Al’s where his elbow rested on the bench top and his hand hung loosely over the space above their touching knees. Alistair’s breath hitched as those talented and silver-ringed fingers ghosted over his own, and a warm palm settled over top them.

He didn’t resist at all when that palm turned and Cullen took his hand and tugged him to lean forward. He didn’t breathe as Cullen bent in, slowly, eyes cautiously locked to his as the distance closed between them, only flicking down to Alistair’s mouth at the last moment . He could feel the gentle puff of Cullen’s breath on his lips as he paused there, allowing Al a moment to back away if he wished. Instead Alistair closed the gap himself, a barely audible sigh escaping just as they pressed together in a soft but decisive kiss. A kiss he deepened when he felt the squeeze of a hand on his thigh, followed by the scrape of the stool pushing back as Cullen stood, hips framed by Al’s knees.  Tentatively Al rested his own hands as Cullen’s waist, tightening his grip when Cullen stepped closer again and he felt strong fingers slide up the nape of his neck.

Heart pounding so hard Alistair was sure Cullen would hear the uneven beat as loudly as a bass drum, or feel it thudding under his ribs as they kissed, chests pressed together where the slightly shorter of the two craned down over him while he remained seated. And it was a good thing he was seated, Al was sure he’s legs wouldn’t hold him if he tried to stand.

 Suddenly a door slammed open and a severe looking woman with greying blonde hair and a pinched expression stormed into the now deserted private bar, causing them both to jump and pull apart with a wet sucking sound.

“Cullen! There you are! The others are already waiting in the foyer for the Rolling Stone interview, they’ve _been_ waiting for half an hour! This isn’t like you,” her steel grey stare flickered over Alistair and her already unpleasant scowl adopted a faintly disgusted look before dismissing him entirely, leaving him chilled and more than a little intimidated.

“Yeah yeah,” Cullen responded with a bored eye roll, “I’ll be there in a minute Meredith,” he looked back at Al, who noted that Cullen hadn’t actually moved away and seemed to be making a point of not doing so, “I’ll meet you down there.”

The manager, so Al assumed she was, narrowed her eyes to a pointed glare before turning on a heel and storming out much the way she entered. When the door snapped shut Alistair looked up into Cullen’s face which was again turned toward him and had resumed the soft-eyed expression he’d been wearing before they were so rudely interrupted.

“I’d better go,” Cullen said apologetically, “PR is all part of the job, unfortunately,” he cupped Al’s jaw and bent to kiss him again, a lingering thing that spoke of want and a reluctance to end. But end it did, and Al missed the warmth of the others’ lips on his almost before they were fully parted. “But,” Cullen  reached behind the bar and retrieved a pen, he took Al’s hand and wrote a phone number along his forearm, “I’d like it if you’d text me with your number, soon, I’d like to chat more with you, about chess,” he grinned as he backed out of the bracket of Al’s thighs, pressing one thumb pad to Alistair’s lower lip before sauntering out the same door. Al was certain there was a little something extra about the way Cullen’s perfect leather-clad ass swayed as he walked away, and it made his guts ache to watch, but also to watch it _leaving_.

Before the door had fully closed behind Cullen on one side of the room, the opposite was flung open and a breathless Evelyn dragging a reluctant Morrigan by one hand breezed in, “Alistair! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Where did you go?” she gasped, out of breath, “I just had to dodge like four security guards and this terrifying old hag to get back in here, and you’re just sitting at an empty bar all alone!”

Alistair, eyes wide with shock, burst into laughter which only escalated at the confused look from Evelyn and the faintly annoyed one Morrigan gave him.

“What has gotten into you,” Eve huffed with fond exasperation as she hooked an arm in his elbow and tugged him to his feet, “C’mon one-shot, she cocked a crooked smile, “let’s get you home. Good thing you’re not designated driver.”

In Morrigan’s car on the ride home the two girls talked quietly in the front seat and Al let the night replay in his mind as he watched the rhythmic flash of passing streetlights illuminate the darkened phone he held in his lap. He swiped the screen to life and opened a new message, he entered the number written boldly on his arm and typed-

“Check mate, Lion of Ferelden.” He sent, and smiled when the reply flashed up bare seconds later.

“Best of three?”

“It’s a date.”

The resultant grin followed Alistair all the way home, to bed, and into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd, it's 2:30am and I had an idea, so I threw up words on my laptop and this is what stuck :)


End file.
